


The Spy and the Witch

by VoldyIsMyFather



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoldyIsMyFather/pseuds/VoldyIsMyFather
Summary: A new lead in tracking down the missing Death Eaters results in Hermione Granger being partnered with Agent James Bond, a member of the British Secret Service for a mission.
Relationships: James Bond/Hermione Granger
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: 31 Days of Writing Challenge - Fall 2020, Cast the Dice 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been written for 31 Day of Writing and Cast The Dice 2020.
> 
> 31 Days of Writing Prompt/Challenge: A Crossover
> 
> Cast The Dice:  
> Week 12 – September 12th – 1 3 3 3 4- Threes – Masquerade  
> So I took Masquerade as the verb – pretending to be someone your not.  
> James & Hermione pretend to be married

James adjusted the lapels of his fitted black suit as he checked over his appearance in the mirror. Once he was sure they were okay, he checked that the cuffs weren’t too tight and he could easily move his wrists in them. He’d learned early days in his career that having the cuffs to tight hindered him if things got out of hand. Not that he was expecting a fight or anything like that this evening, but it paid to be prepared in his line of work.

As an employee of the British Secret Service, he often found himself in tricky situations whilst out on missions and more often than not, it involved him having to use his fists. He was often carrying his permitted Walther PPK or PP9, but sometimes he had to go undercover so couldn’t bring his weapon. This evening was one such occasion, after all, what reason would a journalist have for carrying a government-issued pistol. He didn’t even have his usual Aston Martin to drive this evening, it having been decided by M, his boss that there’s no way a journalist would be able to afford an Aston Martin. James’ argument that it was for a business magazine had fallen on death ears.

The lack of a nice car was only one part of the mission James didn’t like, and the other was that he had to pretend he was married. This meant he wouldn’t be able to find a woman to take home this evening, and he didn’t think his pseudo wife would be up for a one-night stand after their recon mission was complete. She really didn’t seem like the type, and he hoped he was wrong. He didn’t even see why she had to be there or how it would benefit him or MI6 for her assistance. But apparently, it was a cross-government department mission, and she had some relevant expertise he would need for this mission. Not that he was allowed to know just what that expertise was of course.

“Hermione,” he called out to the woman playing his wife for the evening, “Are you ready yet?”

“Just coming, James,” she replied from the bathroom where she had taken to getting ready.

James sighed, from his experience with women and getting ready; her statement meant she was likely to be at least another 15 minutes, if not more. Walking over to the queen-sized bed in their hotel room, he sat on the end to wait. He was surprised when a few seconds later she exited the bathroom dressed in a dark green one-shoulder dress that clung to her curves and a pair of silver open toe heels. In her hand was a silver clutch, that he felt finished the ensemble perfectly.

“You look stunning,” he stated, sending her his winning smile that often-had woman weak at their knees.

“You don’t look too bad yourself Mr Bond,” she grinned back, sending him a knowing smile, “Shall we go?”

He’d have to try harder with this one; he thought to himself as he nodded in response to her question. But he was James Bond, and he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

* * *

Hermione answered the handsome agent’s questions as vaguely as she could, hoping not to give anything away about just what agency she worked for. His questions had started off simple, where had she been born, what did her parents do, what was the name of her first pet but had soon changed to ones she’d had to avoid giving truthful answers to such as where had she gone to school and what government department she worked for. She’d asked him questions too, hoping to gain some insight into the man she had to pretend to be married to for the evening. She learned his father was Scottish and his mother Swiss, he’d spent most of his childhood travelling until he was orphaned at the age of 11 from which he’d been sent to live with his Aunt. He’d attended Eton College before having to leave for reasons he didn’t elaborate, and then going to the same school as his father. From her conversation with him, she could tell he was rather intelligent but had thrill-seeking tendencies. She’d told him about how she’d spend summers abroad in France and bits about her adventures without giving to much away about the whole magic thing.

“So how long have we been married again?” he asked, as they pulled into the car park that belonged to RDL Industries.

“Just over four years,” she replied, “No children yet, but we have a golden retriever called Barnaby.”

“Right, and we met on a dating site Match.com?” he checked.

“Yeah,” she confirmed as they pulled into a parking place.

“Anything else we need to go over?” he asked, unsure of how good her memory was, as they climbed out of the car.

“I’m good,” she nodded.

“Let’s go then,” he smiled, offering her his arm, and leading her in the direction of the lifts that would lead them to the party.

* * *

They rode in the elevator in silence, both wary that their hosts could be listening in on their conversation. It didn’t take long for the elevator doors to ping open and the pair to be met with a beautifully decorated reception area.

“Impressive,” James muttered in her ear.

“It does look rather stunning Alex,” she agreed, using his alias for the evening.

“Not as stunning as you, my dear Elizabeth,” he whispered in her ear in response, as they walked towards the man who appeared to be checking in attendees.

“Names?” the tall usher asked, and James studied his build looking for evidence he was carrying.

“Alexander Smith,” James offered, “and my beautiful wife, Elizabeth Smith.”

The man looked down the list, “Ah yes, the journalist from Business Weekly Magazine, please come in.”

James nodded and led Hermione passed the man and further into the room.

“Shall we get a drink first?” he asked, indicating to the makeshift bar at the far end of the room.

“Works for me,” she agreed, “Best place to survey the room.”

He led her across the room and thought about her behaviour this evening. It seemed that she had some sort of field training as she scanned the room as if looking for exits or potential threats the same way he did. She also held herself as if she were ready to jump into action if the need called for it, she’d also clearly seen action. Maybe being paired with her for this event wasn’t so bad after all, he guessed she’d be able to take care of herself if things went south too, which was always handy to know.

“What can I get you to drink?” he whispered in her ear as they neared the bar.

“A house white wine will be fine,” she replied.

“My boss is paying,” he stated, as they reached at the bar, “You can have something a bit nicer than a house wine.”

She smiled at the comment, knowing it was more for the barmen and those possibly listening in benefit than hers.

“We have a Riesling available if Miss would like,” the barman closest to them offered.

“As your boss is paying, Alex I might have to have a glass,” she commented.

“And a Vodka Martini for me please,” James added, ordering his usual go-to drink, “Shaken not stirred please.”

“Of course, Sir, Miss,” the barman nodded before turning to prepare their drinks.

Hermione had turned around, and he could tell she was surveying the room.

“Here you go,” the barman placed their drinks on the table, and James opened his wallet, which had his fake ID inside and slid across enough notes to cover the drinks.

“Elizabeth, shall we grab a table?” he asked, indicating to a group of tables near the bar area that would still give them a good view of the room.

“Sure, Alex,” she nodded, taking his hand in hers.

Sliding into an empty loveseat, he pulled her down next to him and placed his drink on the small coffee table in front of them; he watched as she took a sip from hers before doing the same.

“So, do you need to meet the owners for your article?” she asked as a couple passed their table, “I can’t remember what you said this morning.”

James smiled at her way of asking just what was expected of him from his department; she was smart he would give her that, “If I can, but an overview of the evening would do.”

“So, what is RDL again?” she stated, feigning ignorance.

“It’s a relatively new business, that has been around since June 1998 and was founded by three friends,” he answered, “and they solve problems.”

“Do you know what they look like?” she asked.

James felt it was a weird question but then considered the information M had provided him with, “No, I don’t my boss didn’t give me a picture.”

He watched her nod and mutter something that he would swear sounded like ‘I do,’ under her breath, but she reached forward and took a sip of her wine. He chose to ignore it but filed it away for later. Clearly, her government department wasn’t sharing all information. He dropped his arm behind her, laying it across the back of the seat and took a sip of his own drink.

* * *

Hermione mentally cursed as James informed her, he didn’t know what their targets looked like. Why hadn’t Kings shared that information with MI6 she didn’t know. Then again, what if the trio of ex-Death Eaters had changed their appearance similarly to as she had for the evening. That would be something difficult to explain to James, she thought. Oh yeah, I have no idea why our potential bad guys look different than the pictures my boss shared with yours. Yeah, that was a conversation that would have gone well and not drawn any suspicion she thought as she sipped on her wine.

“Shall we take a spin on the dance floor?” James asked, drawing her from her thoughts.

Hermione sat back into the chair and leaned into him so she could whisper in his ear, “Listen to what other guests are discussing?”

“Exactly,” he murmured, dropping his arm from the back of the sofa to her lower back and he pulled her closer, before continuing this time in a husky tone, “Plus I would like to dance with you.”

Hermione felt herself blush at his confession and leaned forward out from his embrace to take another sip of her wine, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

“Not here, Alex,” she hissed, “We’re in public.”

“Sorry Elizabeth,” he responded, pulling her close again, “You look so irresistible in that dress I couldn’t help myself.”

“I must agree with your husband Elizabeth,” a familiar cold voice drawled from above, “You do look irresistible in that dress, green is such a lovely colour on you.”

Hermione stiffened in James' arms, something she doubted he didn’t fail to notice as it dawned on her just who that voice belonged to.

“Thank you, Mr?” she heard James respond and felt him move no doubt to offer the man his hand.

“Tony Dimitrov,” the man answered, but Hermione knew the name to be a lie, after all, she’d bore the evidence of her first meeting with that man across her chest, “You are?”

“Alexander Smith, I’m a journalist from Business Weekly,” James offered, “and this is my beautiful wife of four years, Elizabeth.”

“It’s lovely to meet the pair of you,” Tony replied, “Maybe you can interview my business partners and me later?”

“That sound’s great,” James responded, “My boss might finally give me a raise.”

“I will see you both shortly then,” Tony responded before turning and walking away.

Hermione allowed herself to settle against James' arms, not wanting to move as the truth washed over her. Antonin Dolohov was very much alive and had managed to integrate himself into the muggle world. Fuck, they’d spend five years since the war trying to track his arse down, and he’d been hiding in muggle Britain all this time looking just like himself too.

“Do you think that those two are his business partners?” James asked, slightly indicating to the two men their recent conversation partner had gone to talk to after leaving them.

Hermione looked up slowly and stiffened again, before nodding, “Yes, Ja-Alex, I think they are.”

“Are yo-?” James started to ask her, but she cut him off.

“We need to leave now,” she spluttered standing.

“Don’t you need more information first?” James whispered in her ear as he stood up, “I know this is recon but-“

“I’ve got enough,” Hermione stated, “But they know who we- who I am so we need to get out of here now.”

“What do you mean?” he questioned, “How do they know-?”

“I’ll explain once we get out of here,” Hermione replied, “We just need to leave.”

“Okay,” James sighed, and she heard him mutter under his breath about knowing he should have brought a gun as he led them back to the elevators.

“It’s strapped to my thigh,” she murmured as the paused near the elevators, waiting for the doors to open.

“Is everything okay, Mr Smith?” the usher asked.

“My wife is suddenly not feeling well,” James replied, “I’m going to take her home.”

The doors of the elevator pinged open, and Hermione allowed James to pull her inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter!   
> The next one is longer again.

“Breathe,” he whispered calmly into her ear as he held whilst they rode the elevator down to the car park.

The doors opened on their floor of the car park to reveal Tony Dimitrov, Bastian Longwood and Finley Russo the three owners of RDL.

“Miss Granger,” who he assumed to be Bastian Longwood sneered, “I would say it is lovely to see you again, but well that would be a lie.”

Fuck, James mentally cursed as he heard the man utter Hermione’s real surname, she’d definitely been right they had known who she was. What he didn’t know was just how had they gotten down here so quickly.

James pushed her to the side of the elevator, hiding her and him from view, as he hit the close door button.

“Give me my gun,” he ordered, “Quickly.”

“Who’s the muggle, Mudblood?” Dimitrov hissed.

What the fuck is a muggle James found himself wondering, as Hermione finally came to her senses and handed him his gun. He checked the bullets and turned around, so his back was to her. He got himself into a position which would mean he could shoot if necessary.

“Fuck off, Dolohov,” she snapped, and James guessed her comment was aimed at one of the men waiting for them.

“Not until I give you another scar to match the one on your chest,” the man he knew as Dimitrov replied, “Maybe this time I might actually get to end your filthy life.

Something became clear to James in that second, she’d obviously been after these people for a while, and they’d clearly met before. What confused him was, why her boss felt she could go undercover if they knew who she was.

“Come out and play little Mudblood,” the third member of the group called, “I still need to get you back for that crap from the diner. Me and Dolly here were tortured because of you.”

“That’s what happens when you follow a madman who thinks he’s fucking god,” Hermione snapped from beside him.

“Why won’t these doors close?” he grumbled, still pressing the close door button the elevator, whilst waiting for the opposition to start opening fire.

“Close your eyes and don’t think of anything,” Hermione muttered from his side.

“What-?” he asked as he felt her suddenly pull him in for what he thought to be a hug when he felt a nauseating sensation as if he was being pulled through a tiny hole.

Opening his eyes, he looked around and noticed that he was back in the hotel room before he promptly threw up over the carpet.

“Sorry,” Hermione replied, “It was the only way I was going to get us out of there.”

“What the fuck was that?” he snapped, sitting down on the floor, looking up in her in shock, “How did we get back here?”

“Magic,” Hermione answered.

“Magic isn’t real,” he growled.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” she muttered in response pointing at a pillow on the bed, which floated up by a couple of inches, before dropping down again.

“I need a drink,” he sighed, “Then you are going to need to start explaining everything, and I mean everything, starting with why you didn’t tell me about this whole magic thing earlier.”

James watched as she nodded.

* * *

“I wanted to tell you earlier, but my government felt you should only be told if the need arose,” Hermione sighed as she began her story, “Your boss agreed.”

“M knows about your magic?” James asked, swirling his whiskey in its glass as he did so.

“M knows about magic,” she answered, “Not just mine.”

Hermione watched as he raised his eyebrows and gave her a questioning look.

“I work for the Ministry of Magic,” she stated, “It is the governing body of magical Britain.”

“A whole community then?” he queried, sipping his whiskey.

“Pretty much,” she confirmed, “We have a separate education system with us starting to learn to control our magic from the age of eleven, we have our own school too.”

“So those guys at RDL are wizards?” James asked.

“Yes, nasty ones at that,” Hermione responded, “We’ve been looking for them for five years now, we only got wind that they were in the muggle world a few months ago.”

“What does muggle mean?” he questioned, “That man, Dolohov, he called me one.”

“It means non-magical,” she sighed and added after guessing what his next question was going to be, “and Mudblood means muggleborn which is someone born to non-magical parents.”

“I take it that you?” James guessed.

Hermione nodded in response, sipping on her own whiskey, “Mudblood is a slur, those men are purebloods who believe that Muggleborns like me are beneath them.”

“Then why are they in the muggle world as you put it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, “Hiding, I guess.”

She then proceeded to tell him about the events of what happened during the 1990s in Wizarding Britain.

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally intended to post this on October 5th as it is James Bond day. It was going to be a short drabble. My muse had other ideas and well here I am now writing a short story. I've got about 5000 words written, and aim to write at least another 5000. It could be longer.


End file.
